


The Lucky One (Part One)

by FalineEvans



Series: The Lucky One (1960s AU) [1]
Category: Little Mix (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: 60s AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1960s, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalineEvans/pseuds/FalineEvans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was shiny and new and just perfect, and if she could sense that anything was wrong, she ignored it.</p><p>She was Lou’a Perry, the most promising young starlet to be signed to Playtime Records in decades. </p><p>She was the lucky one.</p><p>{Zerrie Fic because there is not enough in the world and they're cavity-inducingly sweet}</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lucky One (Part One)

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by Taylor Swift's song of the same name.
> 
> When I first listened the lyrics; "And overnight, you look like a sixties queen," all I could see in my head was this picture: http://i1.mirror.co.uk/incoming/article1285625.ece/ALTERNATES/s615b/Perrie+of+Little+Mix and yeah so this fic kind of wrote itself woops
> 
> It was originally meant to be 5000 words all parts together but that kind of obviously didn't work out. Part 2 is yet to be written but will be so soon!
> 
> Lots of Love,  
> xx

Lou’a Perry.

The blonde girl bit her lip, making a face when she got a mouthful of cheap red lipstick. She gagged, eyes watering slightly and cheeks flushing as the label team immediately turned to look at her in one synchronised motion. She smiled apologetically, faking a dainty sneeze and making an off remark about allergies. She pretended not to hear when they discussed writing a referral to an allergy specialist for her, accepting the tissue one of the suited men handed her silently and hastily covering the smiley-face she’d penned on her notepad with her handbag.

Lou’a Perry… It was different. A lot different. She’d changed a lot of things about herself already, and her name was one she thought she wouldn’t have to… She’d still only been in L.A. for less than a year, chasing her dreams, and every letter from her Mama or Jonnie dictated caution.

But there was no doubt it was worth it.

She wiped her eyes precisely, folding the tissue and placing it in her handbag, folding her hands in her lap and glancing at the runsheet in front of her. She was too excited to listen properly, really, but she trusted her management team – they were there to help her, after all. Designs were passed down for possible cover art, outfits, photoshoots – everything was so _glamorous_.

It was shiny and new and just perfect, and if she could sense that anything was wrong, she ignored it.

She was Lou’a Perry, the most promising young starlet to be signed to Playtime Records in decades.

She was the lucky one.

+

The meeting ended relatively early and she tucked her white coat underneath her arm, slipping on her sunglasses and shouldering her handbag. She waved at the board members with a wide smile as she exited; smoothing down her pale blue dress and tugging slightly at the (short) hem. Glancing at herself in the glass of the hallway corridors, she made her way briskly to the entrance of the building, the receptionist smiling warmly at her as she descended the stairs.

The foyer was clustered with a small crowd, all of which immediately flocked to her as soon as her kitten heels hit the floor.

She loved it.

She smiled and she waved and she winked and the well-presented men in tidy suits and prim-looking women with red lipstick and pearls went wild; all around, they pressed in and she adored that; she could feel their infatuation with her oozing out of their very pores and gosh it was so satisfying and wonderful it might be overwhelming – though she never could be overwhelmed by this life.

She pressed her way slowly to the door, not even minding that it now takes her fifteen minutes to get across the label foyer; she didn’t know how to control a crowd or even just these tens of paparazzi, but it didn’t bother her – at least not then.

She just patiently pressed against the crowd, slowly, slowly urging towards the door, smiling even when she felt just that suggestion of claustrophobia. She flicked her bag over her shoulder once she got there, tugging her gloves up to her mid-forearms and tossing her blonde curls back; dipping her pointed-edge sunglasses and winking cheekily at the photographers. Then her driver was there in his big, black car and she climbed in and if she sighed it wasn’t in relief because she wasn’t exasperated or tired of this – and she never, ever would be.

She didn’t have that epiphany, that moment of realization where she came to terms with the fact that she’d been working her whole life for this, but she was still so, so new – just a baby really – and so, so naiive.

She didn’t think about all the things she couldn’t do and all the things she couldn’t have.

She didn’t think about things she might have lost along the way.

She was Lou’a Perry.

And as far as she was concerned, she was invulnerable.

+

Here’s the thing:

Perrie – Lou’a – needed this.

She’d been travelling around from place to place, looking for cheap gigs for three years. She’d only been sixteen when she’d begged her Mama to move them to London, pleaded that it was her one shot. She got a scholarship to a fancy music college, joining choir at school and getting lessons from the man down the road with the moustache who sometimes taught piano. The other kids adored her; no one suspected she was a scholarship kid and she got allowance that would have otherwise gone into school fees. She kept up to date with the latest fashions easily, picking up a part-time job when times were tough and keeping it a secret from her ‘friends’. She knew the deal; she was a cool kid now, but as soon as anyone realized she wasn’t one of them, she’d get shelved. The choir mistress had told her she had something special and she’d smiled because she’d believed it – believed that she could maybe one day be as big as Patsy Cline or Connie Francis.

Choir had gone on a trip to Washington DC to participate in a special showcase, and she’d been so, so excited because it was _America_ and there were short skirts and high heels and she’d seen these things before – lots of times – but always in the cities and not this short or this high. And it was all so glamorous and lovely and she _had_ to buy clothes – so she did; the pounds that her mother had exchanged for holiday spending, and then some she’d saved up, it all went into the dresses and the shoes and the hair products and suddenly she looked exactly like an American girl. She met a boy named Niall who drank like a proper Irishman, swore like a sailor but kissed like an American GI the day before the plane to Vietnam. She whispered her dreams to him and he smiled and told her she should head to the Big Apple and follow her them. So she decided to stay in the good old United States, convinced that everything would take off once she got to New York.

She sent a letter to her Mama and set off for Manhattan, her new clothes all pressed and lovely and her smile ever shiny and bright. Her hair was even all sprayed nicely into a sophisticated updo, her hemline so high above the knee it was more _below the bum_. She lasted all of twelve hours there before realizing that she had absolutely _no idea_ what she was doing. She had no place to stay, no one to call and the equivalent of fifty quid in her pocket. She’d wandered around the city for three days aimlessly, lost and confused and wanting more than ever to just _sing._ But she’d pulled through and, by pure chance, wound up in a café on Third Street with a ‘hiring’ sign out the front and a sweetheart named Jade at the counter who made her tea for free and gave her a job with an earnest smile. It was enough to rent a little place above a bookshop and even if it did smell like spliff and not have hot water ever, it was home, and it was across from the post office where she could send home a letter every other week.

When the owner found out she sang, he let her play for tips every Tuesday night and taught her how to play a beat up guitar he’d had in his attic, claiming that it was good business having live music (she suspected he was losing money with one of his waitresses taking potential tips for halfwritten songs, but she did appreciate it all the same). She eventually moved in with Jade, splitting the rent with her and her sweetheart and forgoing pretty new clothes for a little, though she didn’t really mind. The three of them lived quite happily together, Liam insisting regularly that she wasn’t imposing and that it was a pleasure to have her. He had a friend up the road who helped her record her own demo record, rough and live but the best they had, and she grew to like him almost as much as she adored Jade. He remarked, a few months later, that he’d heard from a friend that L.A. was where the music was at and that if she could scrape together enough for the trip, she was sure to find something.

She was happiest in Manhattan than anywhere else, but she longed for the music.  She couldn't stand being so close to all of it there, and not giving it her all. So she saved up enough and she booked her trip with a heavy heart; not wanting to leave her friends, but unable to commit to anything but her passion. The workers at the café pooled together and bought her a guitar of her own and she cried when they brought it out at her farewell party and squeezed Jade so hard she thought the smaller girl would surely break. She was the first friend she’d never had to pretend for, and the best friend she’d ever had. She promised to write and Jade smiled and promised to write back and they both cried when they saw her off.

A few days later she stepped out into L.A., more experienced but not enough; the angel city enchanted her and she immediately went around with a copy of her demo record, knocking on twenty different doors and having nineteen slam in her face. On the twentieth day, she wore her best dress and heels and she did her makeup nice and proper like the girls back in school and she forwent everything she’d ever been with Jade and lo and behold she’d gotten an offer.

And sure, that might say something, and she might have stopped writing to Jade for a little while, but this was everything she wanted and everything she needed and she couldn’t not take this opportunity.

+

It took them eight months of recording, photoshoots, promotional guest performances and barely interested magazine interviewers, but Lou’a Perry’s first album, _Hello Darling_ , was released on the fourth of February, 1963.

It hit platinum on the twenty-sixth of July that year.

Suddenly, everyone wanted everything to do with her. She was invited to every event; shiny black cars pulled up in front of posh hotels every other night with big drivers in fancy suits. She was sent roses and chocolates and jewelry and she donned a pair of thick black sunglasses everywhere to avoid being blinded by the cameras of paparazzi. Lou’a Perry was steadily becoming a household name; the British blonde girl was the envy of women worldwide as she strutted down the red carpet of the most glamorous picture releases, album launches and fantastic parties. She drank herself silly on expensive wine and laughed and smiled and dangled off of the arm of many different suitors.

Her label manager was endlessly pleased with her progress and the resulting income for the label, and her purse soon became fat with cheques and cash alike and – wasn’t this everything she’d ever dreamed of and so much more? She was charming and pretty and cool and everyone loved her – it was impossible not to.

She attended a fashion show a week and every designer fell over their feet, begging her to let them design something for her and every time she said yes. She attended every event she was invited to, presented in flawless gowns of stunning quality; long-sleeved red velvet that fell to her knee in an a-line cut, floor-length champagne gold with a backless halter-neck bodice, midnight blue strapless, floor-length and slit up the thigh… Her hair was styled in a perfect behive, gelled and sprayed, never a strand out of place.

And then she met Sam and he was charming and lovely and she really thought she loved him, and even though she wasn’t allowed to come out to the public and say it, she knew he understood.

+

Sometimes, she wasn't as naiive as she made out to be. 

Sometimes, she wondered about how much she was truly giving up for this.

Sometimes, she got scared. 

Becauseshewasn'tLou'aPerrynotreallyandsometimesshewasscaredthatsheneverwouldbeandsometimesshewasscaredshedidn'twanttobebutshe'dworkedsoHARDand  
shecouldn'tgiveitupnotthemusicshe'dgiveneverythingshehadtostickitoutandshehatedthissongwhydidshesingitwhywasitonrepeatwhywhywhywhyWHY

During those times, Ben would come over. 

Sometimes, she loved him.

Sometimes, she thought he loved her. 

But he always made her forget. 

And then there was no worryingabouteverythingandshehadn'twrittentoJadeinsixweeksandhowdidthatgothatfastwhendidshelastsleepordrinkoreatordoanythingthatwasn'tattendmeetings  
andsingandposehereandanswerthisandsignthisandLou'aoverherehereHERE

And that was the important part.

+

The first time Perrie met Zayn was a couple of weeks into her the recording of her second album.

The label arranged for everyone to have yet another important meeting, this time between herself, her publicist, her manager, her label manager and ‘a guest’. Her publicist told her to ‘dress nice’ on the telephone, which P- Lou’a – almost laughed at outright. Haven’t they reminded her enough recently that she needed to be picture perfect 24/7?

She donned a three-quarter-sleeved, very short, pale pink dress with white polkadots and a white peter pan collar, yawning as she pulled on her white cardigan and white boots. Glancing at herself absent-mindedly in the mirror as she shouldered her handbag and slipped on her white gloves and sunglasses, she groaned inwardly at the cut of her once-fitted bodice. She’d lost half a stone and her cheeks are starting to hollow out; accompanied with the long fake eyelashes she’s been wearing recently, people have started nicknaming her ‘Twiggy II’.

Jade once remarked in front of her that the British model looked like one of ‘those girls’; the models everyone talks about but no one says out loud. Too thin, not right. Everyone in LA had a story about one of ‘those girls’ but it was all very _hush hush_ ; the doctors were starting to call it a ‘mental disorder’ but really all they wanted to do was stay thin so that people would still call them beautiful. For all the curvy advertisements, it still paid to have those curves in the right places, and the rest of you nice and slim.

Lou’a arrived a little late, but their ‘guest’ was only a minute behind her; her manager merely gave her a disapproving raise of his busy eyebrow. She busied herself immediately with hasty organisation; removing her folder from under her arm and pulling out the runsheet and a notepad. She slipped off her sunglasses, pushing them up and using them as a headband and glancing at their guest properly for the first time.

Oh.

And, well, that explained the ‘dress nice comment’.

The stranger was undeniably the most gorgeous bloke she’d seen in a long while; all golden caramel skin and chocolate brooding eyes and a jawline and cheekbones that any girl would envy. His sleek black locks were coiffed into a suitable style and there was the slightest hint of stubble on his chin that completed his whole mysterious façade. He was bulked up a little, but not too much, and presented in a smart casual suit that _looked_ from there to be Prada.

He offered her a shy smile and she smiled back, ignoring the thump of her heart against its ribcage.

“Zayn, meet Lou’a-” the label manager first addressed the man sitting across from her with an award-winning smile and she smiled too, even if she sighed inwardly because for once she did wish she was not regarded as cheap labour, inferior, _female._

“She’s our little star-” She was beginning to hate the use of the word ‘our’ in the label manager’s vocabulary; like the label really did own her soul, and she supposed that wasn’t half true.

“-the prettiest little angel here at Playtime Records. Biggest voice too – looks like Tinkerbell, sings like Hook, eh?” And really that was the worst Peter Pan reference she’d ever heard.

“She’s our Lucky One,” he finished with a grin and – of course she was lucky; lucky to be signed when she could still be singing in corner-shop cafes every Tuesday night for busking money.

Zayn smiled politely and held his hand out for her to grasp, which she did hurriedly, tugging off her white gloves and setting them in her lap as she reached across the table to grasp his hand. She shook firmly; something she supposed must have surprised him, judging by the raise of his brows and the widening of his slanted eyes.

“Lou’a, this is Zayn,” the label manager patiently turned his attention on her, smile losing some of its winning sincerity. “The biggest name in Rhythm and Blues since Johnny Otis.”

She nodded politely like she knew who that was, letting go of Zayn’s hand and whooping inwardly as he held on for a moment longer than her.

“Now you’ve both got a lot of potential, and the two of you currently have a lot of media coverage,” the label manager continued jovially, though she noticed the solemn note creep into his voice with a nervous hitch of her breath.

Her label manager surveyed the two of them for the moment, before pulling out a metal tin from the breast of his suit pocket, unclasping it at the lid and flicking it open. He drew a fat cigar from the container, offering one first to Zayn – he looked wistfully at it, but refused – and then to the other executives, two of which accepted.

Watching him lighting his little treasure – cigars meant business and she hated when ‘business’ meant her – she squirmed nervously, biting her lip and ignoring the lipstick taste as he continued.

“And we’ve been doing a little research into the field of relationships recently… Zayn, one of my receptionists did tell me you recently broke it off with Becca from Universal?”

The beautiful boy tensed slightly – she could see it in his shoulders and the flex of his angular jaw – but nodded politely all the same. 

“Dear me, how awful,” the label manager commented blithely, shaking his head and tsk-ing seriously. “And Lou’a – you don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

She opened her mouth to correct him, but a warning spark in her manager’s eye stopped her from doing so and she muttered an unwilling; “No,” before glancing down at her lap submissively.

The room was tense for a moment, before the label manager continued.

“And yes, well – I’ve been speaking to your manager, Zayn,  and we’ve agreed that it might be a good idea to develop some chemistry between you two… Just for publicity’s sake, of course,” he winked.

“What – you mean – go with her?”

She jumped slightly in her seat, blinking over at Zayn when she heard that. He flushed apologetically, assuming it was his abruptness and smiling at her apologetically. She blinked slightly, merely marvelling at the tone of his voice; where she had been expecting some rough American accent, instead there was a sure British ring to it which was pleasantly familiar. She smiled to herself furtively; his voice felt like home.

“If you wish,” the label manager said politely, giving an off-the-cuff shrug. He’d looked umpteen times more concerned by the results of the first photoshoot, during which she had realized that no, she was not naturally photogenic, and she would need to work at this. “It would just be wise to keep up a public appearance, is all.”

“So pretend like we’re dating?” She cut in this time; flushing very slightly when Zayn made the same double-take she’d done moments before. “Isn’t that a little deceptive if we’re not?”

Her publicist shot her a look that read ‘stop talking _five minutes ago_ ’, eyeing her and poking his cigar at her glaringly but she was feeling about as indignant as Zayn at this point – how dare they restrict them to this?

The label manager gave her a hard look and she deflated a little, shoulders slumping back into a relatively submissive pose. The bemused expression did not leave her features, though, and she could see that Zayn wasn’t likely to bow down without an answer.

“You may date if you wish,” he said clearly, eyes narrowing slightly, drawing a heavy puff of the cigar and blowing it out in her direction. Her eyes watered and she held her breath. “Or you mayn’t. As long as, to the general public, you appear to be doing so, it is no concern of mine.”

Zayn opened his mouth to argue, but her publicist glanced at him sharply and he immediately closed his mouth, turning to gaze at her with a lost expression that made her heart swell. She gave him a pitying look, shrugging helplessly as she began to gather her things.

It was too much for her to deal with, this early in the morning. All she wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep off the recording exhaustion before tomorrow so that she could keep doing what she loved. She was still terribly excited for the new record, but it really was draining.

She just wanted to go to bed.

As if reading her mind, her publicist turned to her, scanning her up and down in a way which almost made her uncomfortable. His close scrutiny was long since something she’d gotten used to, though, and it now only made her suspicious.

“Lou’a, are you busy this afternoon?” he asked suddenly, too loud in a room that was unusually, uncomfortably silent.

The girl frowned, shaking her head hesitantly and gazing questioningly at him.

“Zayn?” he queried, turning his attention to the handsome man. He mirrored the girl’s actions and her publicist smiled, glancing back at the label manager.

And Zayn and she could see where this was going and she could feel the last grasp of control slipping away from her now, but she smiled anyway and fixed her hair because she was The Lucky One and she’d do what they said whether she liked it or not.

Even if she was starting to realize she didn’t like it at all – not one bit.

“It would be a perfect opportunity for Miss Perry and Mr Marks to get to know each other a little better – don’t you think?”

Zayn glanced over at her with an equally fake smile and she found herself resisting the urge to giggle.

Because, uncomfortable as the situation was, they were in this together now.

And it had been a long time since Lou’a had had a proper friend.

+

They went for ice cream – courtesy of her publicist’s suggestion – and she got chocolate fudge and he got strawberry frozen yoghurt and they both laughed because they would have expected it to be the other way around. She did admit she was tense at first – she’d learnt the lay of the land, now, and a new and _important_ man that was to be a significant part of her life was more than a little intimidating – but Zayn was a perfect gentleman, letting her pay for her own dessert when she asserted herself and suggesting they go and sit in the park, it being a pleasant afternoon.

“What is your fondest childhood memory?” she asked suddenly, glancing at him with a spark in her blue eyes.

Seemingly unperturbed by the sudden interrogation, Zayn tilted his head thoughtfully. “When Doniya used to babysit,” he told her decisively. “She let me eat tea in the lounge room. I never got to eat tea in the lounge room.”

“Who’s Doniya?” she questioned, taking a bite of her ice cream.

“My older sister,” he smiled fondly, glancing over at her. “Mum always knew of course – right intelligent woman she was.”

She laughed softly, picturing a chubby miniature Zayn begging his Mama to eat his dinner on the couch and his Mama glaring accusingly at his sister for causing it.

“Have you got any siblings?” he asked in return, turning to look at her.

“An older brother and a half-sister,” she shrugged, skating lightly over the ‘half-sister’ topic. She wasn’t ever resentful of her Dad or Caitlin, but it was an uncomfortable subject for many. “Is Doniya your only sibling?”

Zayn shook his head, playing with the spoon and taking a small bite. “Two younger ones too; Waliyha and Safaa.”

“House full of girls,” she teased at him, shrieking when he loaded his spoon like a slingshot, pressing down on the flat of his spoon in a threat and glancing at her nice dress meaningfully.

“What’s your house like, then?” he asked, taking a bite of his ammunition and chewing thoughtfully. “Big family?”

She shrugged noncommittally. “Jonnie went off to serve in Vietnam a couple of months back,” she said quietly. “Just me and my Mum.”

He nodded understandingly, laying a sympathetic hand on her arm.

She shrugged uncomfortably, turning her attention back to her ice cream. The frozen fudge melted slowly on her tongue and mouth, blooming her lips bright blue.

“Best friend back home?” she asked distractedly, stirring at the remaining half of the frozen dessert.

Zayn grinned fondly, nostalgically. “Bloke named Harry,” he chuckled to himself slightly. “He’s a right git, really. Used to sleep around-” he cut himself off, blushing bright red. “I’m sorry,” he apologised quickly.

She snorted, shaking her head. “I’m not a prude,” she told him with mock offense, poking his arm with the end of her spoon and laughing at him. “Your friend Harry used to sleep around and then?”

Zayn smiled, still bashful. “Then he up and got into a serious monogamous relationship a year and a half ago and hasn’t looked back since.”

He chuckled and she smiled, more because his laugh was almost as pretty as he was.

“Must be a lucky girl,” she commented and he shrugged awkwardly.

“Best friend back home for you, then?” he countered, linking their arms naturally as they made their way across the road to the park.

A few heads turned in their direction and she understood the label managers’ motives; they were already attracting attention. She resisted the urge to sigh, instead just squeezing his arm and taking another bite of rapidly melting ice cream.

“Not back home,” she said thoughtfully. “But her name’s Jade. She took me in for a little while in New York; lived with her and her sweetheart.”

“Kinky,” Zayn teased before he could stop himself and she let out a shocked laugh.

“New York?” he repeated after a moment, tilting his head at her. “You’ve been all around the place, haven’t you Miss Perry?”

She smiled slightly, shrugging. “Grew up in South Shields, Tynne and Wear. Moved to London to do singing school. Moved to New York to get a singing gig. That flopped. Moved here, and it worked out.”

“That’s a yes then,” he grinned fondly, jostling her arm.

She shrugged again, because it wasn’t really all that special for her; her family had a habit of moving around a lot. She supposed she was a restless soul.

“Where’s home for you then, Mr Marks?” she queried, half-teasing.

He flinched slightly and she frowned, politely averting her gaze and pretending not to have noticed. When she glanced back, however, he was fully composed, and she convinced herself she’d never seen him slip at all.

“Bradford,” he nodded, steering them towards a pathway lined with ordered flowerbeds; a few benches along the way.

The flash of a camera sounded behind them and he gave her a look, before bending down and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. She tensed slightly, before sighing, glancing up at him guiltily.

“I have a boyfriend,” she confessed, glancing down at her feet as they walked. She hadn’t meant to give him the wrong impression; she didn’t want him to be at all confused in this. Well, she wanted him to be the least amount confused as possible.

“I know,” he replied amusedly, quirking an eyebrow in her direction.

She stopped walking, gazing at him with wide eyes because – oh, she’d been so careful, and if she was that see-through perhaps the paparazzi would find out and –

“Your face back in the board room,” he explained quickly and she let out a sigh of relief. “Pity really,” he winked good-naturedly. “He’s a lucky guy.”

They’d been encompassed by a silence not entirely uncomfortable for a little while, when;

“Malik.”

The girl glanced up at him curiously, folding her legs to preserve her modesty as she perched on the picturesque bench. She frowned in confusion, raising an eyebrow at him and gesturing for him to explain.

“My last name’s not Marks,” he told her quietly, staring down at the nearly empty cup of melted strawberry frozen yoghurt. “It’s Malik. My manager decided it was a good idea to-”

“ ‘Market the goods – and all of the goods’?” She finished, smiling wryly when Zayn glanced at her in surprise.

She scooped a teaspoon of chocolate fudge cream – it could hardly be called ‘ice-cream’ with the consistency of a milkshake – and sucked on it thoughtfully, resisting the urge to sigh. She was very aware of Zayn’s eyes on her as she distracted herself; her cheeks flushed pale pink at the feeling. Replacing the spoon, she wiped her mouth with a napkin, glancing at him ruefully.

“Perrie,” she confessed equally quietly, fidgeting with her white gloves.

“They didn’t make you change your name?” he asked glumly, and she remembered that ‘Lou’a Perrie’ was awfully similar to ‘Lou’a Perry’, but that wasn’t what she meant.

“Perrie Edwards,” she corrected with a small laugh, shaking her head. “Perrie _Louise_ Edwards… I win.”

“Yes you do,” he admitted, grinning when she gave him a playful shove. “That must be difficult… At least if someone calls my first name, I understand who they’re talking to.”

She shrugged uncomfortably, because she’d stopped using personal pronouns when her name was first changed and it didn’t bother her like it should have any more. It was just one of those things that she’d sacrificed – and rightly so, of course. At least she was doing what she always dreamed.

“Can I call you ‘Perrie’?” Zayn asked hesitantly, gazing at her seriously. She didn’t respond immediately and he hastily continued with; “It’s alright if you say no – it was terribly forward of me-”

“I think I’d like that,” she replied honestly, giving him a small smile.

‘Lou’a Perry and Zayn Marks – A Heartfelt Romance’ hit the covers of Us, Weekly the next day.

But all she thought of when she saw the picture was ‘Perrie Edwards and Zayn Malik’.

And it was okay.

+


End file.
